


Finally, Some Good Fucking Food

by FantabulousAss



Series: Overwatch Weight Stuff [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Weight Gain, Weight Issues, and fluff, brief mentions of the Junker Queen, it's mostly backstory, like i said, mentions of weight gain, mostly backstory, some kink stuff, stupid, there's nothing too graphic here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 10:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17384978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantabulousAss/pseuds/FantabulousAss
Summary: Roadhog has been on his own for a long time, with no one to depend on but himself... what happens when he's not alone anymore.





	Finally, Some Good Fucking Food

**Author's Note:**

> I guess this could kind of be the start of me writing Overwatch weight gain. I'm easing into it for now, so people who aren't expecting it aren't freaked out by it, but expect more.

Roadhog had always been heavier set. He’d never been really truly fat until a few years after the Omnium blew. Beer, liquor and other canned or glass sealed drinks, whatever they could find, were the only things they could trust to drink. There hadn’t been many options for food, either, so junk food, anything with a ten-year expiration date was probably safe.

Roadhog had also found himself nearly a foot taller than he’d been before the explosion and along with the brand-new facial scars, he was lookin’ like a proper monster. In turn, people were changing, becoming human monsters themselves. They were distrustful, so worried about saving themselves and keeping alive, they started murdering for paranoia’s sake.

People turned on people so easily, and for such stupid things, it was easier to isolate himself, to fight for his life when he was the only person he had to depend on. Plus, isolation made rationing food, water and other supplies much easier.

He thought it was the sugar and calories from the soda, beer and other alcohols that were putting weight on him, but he also realized it was the food. Apparently, and this was a hypothesis only, his body was storing the calories for the days when he had nothing, and there were a lot of those.

His strength grew and his confidence with the only weapon he could find grew as well. He found he was better suited to close combat, with no weapons. His new, larger hands easily palmed men’s faces, and his arms, bulging with a strength he hadn’t realized he had, had the strength to crush their skulls.

The weapon he had was an old meat hook he’d pilfered from an abandoned meat curing facility. The whole place had smelled rotten, but it had water, real water from deep in the ground, so he stayed for a few days, until a patrol from a newly formed town found his chopper and he had to move on.

As of yet, he didn’t have his iconic mask. That came around six years later, after raiding an abandoned camp. He was more together; his hook was more personalized and he had been almost completely silent for nearly nine years. Nothing to say when there was no one to say it to. When he put on the mask, there wasn’t anyone to surprise him, if he saw a mirror. There wasn’t anyone who could recognize him, from before, unless they had known about his tattoo. Of course, his tattoo now had a new kind of celebrity status, along with the mystery of his mask, fueled by his utter ruthlessness.

He had grown more, he knew. He knew by the way his forehead hit door frames if he wasn’t careful, the way his ponytail would brush the ceilings of houses that used to be homes. He was taller, wider too and not just in the gut, his shoulders made him enter rooms sideways, and his belly was starting to make that difficult.

Every so often, he would have to scare off a straggler, or a small group, but by then, most anyone knew his bike if they hadn’t seen him yet. It was never truly _clean_ anymore, but it ran, and it ran well. Roadhog had taken to sleeping with the bike either underneath him or inside a building so no mongrel could steal his gas.

By the time Junkertown had emerged, a place with rules, loose as they were, and some kind of order under the Queen, Roadhog had been almost completely alone for 12 years.

He was invited in, became an enforcer almost immediately due to his size and prowess with his hook, and had some form of real stability in his life for the first time in nearly 15 years, since the Omnium blew, since everything had been ruined.

With this stability, came food. Came relaxation. Came… boredom. He got fatter, but then lost some as his body realized the food wasn’t going anywhere, and it was okay. He was safe.

Until one day, that scrawny little brat had been cornered in the bar. Roadhog recognized his face from a few wanted posters, but he wasn’t about to say anything. He was an enforcer, not a bounty hunter. Plus, he was off duty, enjoying a beer, now that it was a choice and not a last resort.

The rest was history. For the next five or six years, they pillaged, ravaged and just had a fuckin’ good time. They got closer, came to an understanding, and without even realizing it, cared for each other in a way they hadn’t with anyone before.

Roadhog spoke around Junkrat, and Junkrat learned Roadhog’s body language and cues when he couldn’t find the words. He was a fast learner, even if he was too hyperactive for his own good sometimes. Roadhog was, admittedly, a slower learner. He had to relearn what living with people was like. They made noises in their sleep, or at least Junkrat did, and really, he made noise all the time. More than once, Roadhog had been startled into awareness because of screeching Junkrat admitted was actually singing. Eventually, Roadhog learned to like the sound, and grumbled less about it.

Junkrat was different, though. He was younger, could hardly remember a time before the Omnium, couldn’t remember life without a war. Roadhog felt guilty for that, felt guilty for helping blow the fuckin’ core. He couldn’t remember feeling guilty, not ever, not until he saw what Junkrat, a child, had been reduced to.

Soon as they were out of Oz, out of the Wastes and into Regular People Lands, they enjoyed themselves. They stole because they could. They were successful because they didn’t care about lives, human or ‘bot. Who’d cared about the Outback? Who’d come to their aid? Nobody cared who they were until they were there, in their perfect cities, ruining their banks, stealing the things they wanted, taking the things they needed.

They had luxuries, now, every once in a while. They allowed themselves one hotel in a new city, one, where they would just do nothing but relax and be with each other.

More often than not, it would include meals, big ones. Roadhog always sacrificed for Junkrat. He was happy to do it. Hunger didn’t hurt that bad, not after 12 years of it. He could take it. Junkrat, tiny, tiny little Junkrat, who no matter how much he ate never seemed to gain an ounce, needed food more than he did.

In hotels, though, they both gorged. They both ate their fill.

Once, after Roadhog had eaten enough to feel the ache of hunger subside, Junkrat asked to feed him. “Y’ just… look so happy when y’ eat.” He managed, without looking at Roadhog, who had only taken his mask off a handful of times, even around Junkrat, the person he trusted most in the world. Even now, the mask was only pushed up so his mouth was exposed.

He slowly took his mask off and nodded, granting permission with an almost shy look, and a small blush, one that he would deny until his dying day, feeling a bit of humiliation tingle up his back and settle in his shoulders. He looked happy while he ate? He’d never even thought about it. How weird. It made sense, but it didn’t make it any less humiliating. Fat guy loves food, who would’ve fuckin’ guessed? It made him really uncomfortable to think about it, for some reason. He’d never thought about what he looked like while he ate, why would he? No one had been around, until Junkrat.

Junkrat, to his credit, looked so happy, perched there on his knee, plate of food in hand, Roadhog didn’t have the heart to change his mind, even as he had second and third thoughts. It was weird, not being in control of his food. Junkrat was so gentle and slow that eventually, Roadhog gave him a Look. ‘Go faster’, it said. He _was_ still hungry after all. Better to get this done with as soon as he could, so the humiliation didn’t kill him first.

With a laugh and a kiss to Roadhog’s nose, the scarred bit, the younger put a larger bite of steak on the fork and shoved it in. Roadhog took his time chewing it, watching Junkrat’s face, watching his tongue dart out and lick his lips. “If yer hungry, you can have some, y’know. I won’t bite.” Roadhog grumbled, mouth still full, feeling exposed and slightly uncomfortable with the intensity of Junkrat’s gaze on him, watching him stuff his fat face even more, after already eating enough food to give Junkrat four meals on its own.

“I know. Different kinda hunger, mate.” As if he could feel the shame churning in Roadhog’s gut, he frowned and put the plate down, putting his flesh hand on the side of Roadhog’s gut. He wished he could say the touch didn’t make his skin crawl, his discomfort and embarrassment peaking in a way it never had before. “Hey, don’t gimme that look, what’s wrong?” Oh, right, his mask was off.

“Nothin’.” He said, steeling his face again. This was stupid. Let Junkrat have his fun. He wasn’t making fun of him; the flush on his own face was proof enough of that.

“It’s not nothin’. Is this too weird? It’s weird, ain’t it? It’s aw’right, Hoggie, if it is.” Junkrat looked embarrassed, now, as if _he_ was the problem, and not the old man having a panic attack because he was fat and hungry and someone was daring to take _care_ of him.

“No.” He swallowed hard, trying to take the anxiety with it. “Stay. Finish.”

It was still awkward, still nerve-wracking, but by the time they finished, Roadhog was both pleasantly stuffed and feeling much more comfortable with Junkrat, and the weird little ritual they’d started. It became a part of their hotel rituals, until Roadhog noticed that Junkrat could barely fit on his lap anymore.

He didn’t mention it, since Junkrat didn’t, except when they were _together_. He praised Roadhog endlessly when they fucked, his motormouth running and running, every word stroking Roadhog’s ego, until the massive man hardly cared about the weight he was carrying. He hadn’t cared before, mind you. It’d just been a fact of life, and a landmark of his survival. He’d been proud of it then, in some ways. But now, with Junkrat, with Junkrat being who he was, he felt comfortable in his skin, with his partner. He didn’t feel his flesh crawl when Junkrat’s flesh hand rubbed his gut or touched his pecs to tweak his sensitive nipples. Instead, he felt his boyfriend’s adoration.

With that came the issue of Junkrat. He was still so tiny. He looked less emaciated, true, but he didn’t have near the amount of padding Mako had had, not even when he was a teenager. This time, in their hotel room, Roadhog was the one feeding Junkrat.

“Hey,” He whined, “I can do that just fine, thank you.”

“I know. But I wanna turn.” Roadhog said, smirk in his voice. “Wanna see what gets you all excited about it.”

“Fine…” They switched places, and Roadhog didn’t let Junkrat tell him when he was full, the way Junkrat had sometimes gone overboard. “Relax, ‘Rat. I won’t hurt ya.”

Roadhog fed him until his stomach, usually concave, actually stuck it out. “Good, Rat. Good job. I’m impressed.”

“I’m _so full_ , Mako.” What a whiny little brat he was. “Rub my stomach. C’mon, I always do that for ya.”

And so, he did, feeling how tightly packed Junkrat’s little stomach was… He got it. He could’ve spent hours doing it, but it only took about 30 minutes. As it turned out, Junkrat’s body was greatly appreciative of the meal, and the littler Junker was asleep in minutes.

Roadhog took the quiet to clean the room, finishing the food Junkrat couldn’t and wondered if it was worth it. If the years of isolation and pain, the years of lacking and not having enough, if it was worth it, now that they were out.

_Yes_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you thought about it and if there's anything else you'd like to see from me.


End file.
